A grandmother and a mother

84. 14.04.2013

 

Hi Mark, it’s Carol here. How are you?

Me too. Up and down. In floods of tears some moments, but then next minute I’ll remember something about mum and I’m laughing. God I wish she was still here. I miss her so much

Yeah, I know, I wish she was here to sort this out.
How’s the kids?

Same with mine. I went out and showed Chloe  nanna’s star last night. Told her Nana was looking down on her forever now. She asked who all the other stars were. I told her it was other children’s  grandmothers and mothers.  I don’t think she understands properly. She cried, but then asked if Nana was coming round next week.

16 next year. They’re closing the school down in September. There’s another place that she might be able to go to but we don’t know if we’ll get funding for her. Then there’s getting her there.

She seems alright. She had another episode yesterday though. She’s watching The Wizard of Oz at the moment. That DVD must be worn out by now. She always asks to watch it when she’s upset.

I was just wondering if you’ve had anybody saying they’re not coming on Wednesday?
Oh right, that’s a shame, mum really liked her too.  Couldn’t someone pick her up?
Really? A multiple fracture. That’s not good at her age. How old was she 87? Same age as mum?

What? And she spent six hours in a corridor on a stretcher waiting to be seen? The NHS isn’t what it used to be.  Bloody cuts.

Really? It took two hours for the ambulance to arrive? And she was lying on the pavement all that time?  I knew there were cutbacks but that’s disgusting. She’s a mother and a grandmother for crying out loud.

Who’s looking after her then?

Twice a week? Is that all? But she must have paid National Insurance all her life. It’s shameful.
Did you find out about mum’s bank account? The undertakers called earlier, they want an upfront payment.

I know, I know, but we’ve just not got that kind of money. Where are we going to get nearly two grand from? And mum always said that she wanted to be buried next to Dad, but that’s going to be at least £1500

Look don’t shout at me, I don’t want a cremation either.
Yes, I am crying.
hang on, I’ll call you back in a minute

The cremation fees are £560 but they said if we all wait outside and not in the bereavement room it will be cheaper. They also do a cheap rate at 9 in the morning too. I think we’re going to have to think about it Mark.

Look, will you please stop shouting at me, I didn’t want mum to die.

I know you’re upset, I’m sorry. I just wish that she was still here.

Anyway I spoke to the vicar.

Yes, the one with the funny eye.

Yes and the teeth

I’m not sure about that Mark. I’ll look under his cassocks next time

Don’t it’s not nice. I’m sure he doesn’t

Stop it, we really shouldn’t be laughing. Anyway, I spoke to him and he said that if we had a close friend or relative to be the officiant, that would save another £100.

No, I don’t know what an officiant is either. I think it means the person who talks.

Well, I would like to say something, but I don’t think I could. I’d start blabbing.
That would be lovely Mark, mum always said she thought you had a lovely speaking voice. She always said you should’ve been Joseph instead of one of the sheep in the school nativity.

Do you remember that time in Benidorm? When she was in the sea and that wave came up from behind? And the force of it knocked her teeth out?

I know, she didn’t laugh though. And all those Spanish lads trying to find them in the sand.  I’ve never seen dad laugh so much.

Yeah it probably was the last holiday we all had. When did dad die? 2003?

Yeah there was a programme on anthrosilicosis the other night.

No, I don’t think it was dad’s pit, but I remember him talking about miners he got to know during the strike from there. I think some of them came to his funeral.

They were saying that some of them were due compensation but by then all the money had gone and the government refused to help.

I’ve just thought, have you asked any of the miner’s wives? I know mum kept in contact with some of them. What was the name of that family in South Wales? The people we went to stop with for a holiday?

I’ll have a look to see if they’re in her address book.  God if only she was here to do all of this.

I hate phoning people and telling them.  Odd thing is though, I never cry. I just do it.  They must think I’m really heartless. Made of iron or something.

I do hope there’ll be a good turn out. It will be horrible if only a few turn up. Everybody liked mum. Didn’t they?

Do you mean the suit you bought for dad’s funeral? Will it still fit?

Have you had a look in the big Asda? They do cheap ones
But it’s mum’s funeral.

Stop shouting at me. It’s not my fault

Could you not borrow one? From Mike? Or Dave? He’s your size

I didn’t say you were fat. I just said you are Dave’s build

Well I’ve not seen him recently have I, how was I to know that he’d ballooned.

That’s not nice Mark. You know it’s my glands.

That’s OK. I know. We both are.  Please Mark, don’t start crying again.

Yes I love you too. Even though you are a fat porker.

I might have a look down the market, the stall on the corner has nice things. Some of them are M&S seconds. I’ll need a bag too. I might see if one of mums would match. Mum would like that. Waste not want not.

Yeah, I’ve thought about flowers too. Mum loved flowers. Not the ones that common people have with names and things, mum said they were naff. Just chrysanths and those other ones, the white ones with the yellow stuff that comes off on your clothes

Are they lilies? Right

But they’re dead expensive. Mum really liked flowers. I popped into the florists in the precinct. They cost a fortune. The woman was really nice and everything and understood though. But the flowers are Dutch which is why they’re expensive. You can’t get British flowers anymore.

I can’t help it Mark, it just makes me so sad. She’d be so upset if there were no flowers.

Could we ask uncle Billy if he could help out? Do you think he would? The thing is, I’ve not spoken to him since Auntie Muriel died.

Would you? Thanks Mark. You always got on with him better than I did. 

Oh him! Yes I know who you mean, and he asked how Dennis was? Did he not know dad died? I’m sure he must’ve known. No he did know. He was at the funeral.
it could be Alzheimer's I suppose.

Yes I did actually, the man at the council was really understanding and everything but said that the house needs to be emptied by the end of the month. That’s two weeks away.  What are we going to do with all the stuff Mark? I wish mum and dad were still here to do all of this.

I’m not really bothered. I’d like the drawers in my old room and mum’s music box and that necklace she had that looked like a ginger biscuit. Oh, and the wooden chair in the dining room – are you alright about that?  

Do you mean the tumblers from the Green Shield stamps? The posh ones?
I’m sure it was green shield stamps. Were they not from the Shell garage?
Do you remember when we used to go to the petrol station with dad so that we could get a stick of that licorice that looked like cricket bats  and eat it before mum found out?

I spoke to Wendy, she said we could use the function room for free but we have to be out by 1 because it’s booked for a civil partnership thing. I told her we’d do our own food.  I’ve got a load of sausage rolls and party nibbles from Iceland. Wendy said we could warm them up in the microwave to take the chill off them. I’ll get some wafer thin ham and do some sandwiches without crusts. I was thinking about getting some fruit cake or something. Aldi do a good one. Mum always said that you had to have fruit cake at a funeral. I’ll take it out of the wrapper at home so people can’t see it’s Aldi.  Do you think people would think it’s funny if they have to pay for their own drinks?
Oh I phoned Doreen too.

You must remember Doreen.  Mrs Dawson. The art teacher. Fanny – Fanny Brush. The one who was sacked for talking about famous gay painters. Anyhow when I phoned, she asked me how Margaret was. I told her that I was phoning to tell her about mum and she was really shocked. She says she would have loved to have come, but she’s been housebound for 8 years now following the stroke. She sounded really frail.

I was just thinking, we could always scatter mum’s ashes on dad’s grave. Plant some daffodils or something. She liked daffodils. Always said they made her feel cheerful. And then when there’s a bit of money, get her name put on the stone.

I do hope people will come. It will be awful if nobody turns up. She was such a lovely person Mark.

No, I’ve not seen the news. Why?

 

Margaret Thatcher! dead?

When?

Last week! Really. I must have missed it on TV.  When’s her funeral?

Wednesday?   That’s the same day as mum’s

£10 million?
Mark, stop shouting at me, it’s not my fault. I don’t need to be shouted at at the moment

Yes. I am crying.
How are we going to afford it Mark?

27.08.2012 The last bank holiday

 

146. 15.06.2012 Amber-ish weather advisory

147. 15.06.2012 Amberish weather advisory

The met office today revealed  a shake-up in their weather warnings and announced the introduction of a whole raft of new colour weather advisory colour codes  to make things even more confusing.

18 new colour advisories in little triangles  will be launched including mauve, puce, mocha, burnt sienna, scarlet, light beige, dark beige, comfy slacks beige, golden tan, deep tan,  dark tan, tanned bottom tan,  Irish tan (a slightly deeper shade of scarlet) Scottish  tan (light blue) Cilla ginger, curry vomit orange, acne pustule yellow  and pube brown.

The met office spokesman went on to say "Despite all our modern technology and computers and those little remote control clicker things we hold  when doing the weather, the fact of the matter is we still make it up as we go along and are basically a group of smarmy arsed patronising tossers based in London" he went on to say "some people think it’s a really cushy job just wandering into the  studio at 25 past six in a nice suit, sharing a bit of inane banter with the newscaster, laughing that it’s raining in the north and talking nonsense for two minutes,  but sometimes we have to break some really awful news like "prolonged drizzle in the stockbroker belt  or "possible sleet flurry in Surrey" or the most dreadful of all "grey skies at the Henley boat regatta".

Meanwhile as the weathermen got it right for once, the country has been lashed by severe weather (colour code phlegm green) with intermittent spells of other weather (soiled nappy brown)

In Manchester it snowed (fact) and Metrolink were delighted to have an excuse for the daily delays, knock on delays and knock on knock on delays which are expected to have a knock on and hopefully a knock on knock on effect until the leaves fall on the tracks in the autumn.

Meanwhile in Liverpool  in an unrelated incident a Mrs Jan M'nylonCardie phoned 999 in a state of panic and reported not only  horrific weather conditions but a personal breech of hygiene (tena yellow)

Up in Scotland a distraught Mrs Alison Stephenson (49)  phoned NHS Direct  as it was so cold that her nipples had frozen to the  glass panel in her walk- in shower (Chapel coat peg blue).  At first staff had trouble understanding her until they realised she was a South African. "I was shocked, appalled and horrorstruck" she said as she was revived with an intravenous G&T drip.

In East Anglia things were not much better and a Mrs S Driscoll (54) reported that the inclement weather had left her with an even worse bad hair day than normal "much as I’m a fan of Bananarama  and  Ken Dodd"  she wept "I don't want to look like him"

In Surbiton,  Jessica Ffockerton-Fflange demanded action be taken. "not only do I have a pretentious name with too many double consonants in it, and look like a horse in distress, but we've had to endure the pain and embarrassment   of having an empty swimming pool due to the hosepipe ban all year and now on top of all this  the home help is unwilling  to come and do the hoovering because her static caravan home is flooded and she had to be rescued from the roof with a nasty duvet wrapped around her. I'm going to have to sack her next week. She doesn't look or sound Polish but she clearly is"

Elsewhere expectant mother of 5, Shannela (shazza) Grimsby claimed that the government  weren't doing enough to provide entertainment for her five offspring during the prolonged bad weather.  "My youngest has AD, the second one has AD-HD, the middle one has AD-AD-HD / AD-AD-AD , the second to oldest has concentration issues and the oldest one has been diagnosed as not paying attention. What I would like to say to Nick Cameron is its alright for you but you've not got five kids to leave behind in a pub when it rains  - what are you going to do about it?"

Meanwhile somewhere on a train between Manchester and Llandudno,  Mr Timothy Shitcrust (32) was irate at the lies Arriva trains Wales were peddling to their customers. (fact), "to be brutally frank they must think that I'm as backward as my partner looks. The train was already 15 minutes late and they were still announcing that it was 5 minutes late and when it finally arrived 30 minutes late they were advising of a 10 minute delay. I recognised the voice of the person doing  the announcements though. It's the same arse who works for Sky customer care. As if all that wasn't bad enough the buffet trolley didn't have any cheddar bakes or diet coke so I was forced into having to eat two Snickers, a twirl and a bag of KP mixed salted nuts. To be brutally frank, I wouldn't mind if I had something to do, like writing the words for a picture a day or something"

Meanwhile the bad weather is set to continue well into next week but on the plus side, the flowers in the garden look nice with raindrops on them

144. 12.06.2012 Off the rails

144. 12.06.2012 Off the rails

This is the view from the top of one of the old inclines at  the Dinorwic Slate Quarry, overlooking the beauty of Snowdonia.

 It was the second largest slate quarry in the world  after the neighbouring Penrhyn Quarry. It covered more than 700 acres with 20 galleries plus all the usual tramways and inclines

Mining here first took place in 1787, when as was so often the case in Welsh history, an English landowner who via an act of parliament gained ownership of  a large part of the parish of Llanddeiniolen. He evicted the people who lived and worked the land and exploited the mountains for his own wealth. A vast wealth. This enabled him to build his small abode on the Vaynol Estate near Bangor. That’s the place with the high walls, the gate lodges and all the rest of the trappings of vulgar wealth.  With no regards to the 3000 men who toiled in the quarries, his wealth increased although he never actually dirtied his hands on the slate or inhaled slate dust. He spent most of his days playing cricket for which he was also famed. When not playing cricket or counting his pennies he no doubt spent the rest of the time looking at his plain and dull wife and humouring his spoiled children. His son who inherited his wealth also went on to be a cricket fanatic and via marriage went on to gain even more wealth. They entered politics to ensure that their rights and wealth were protected – something that members of a certain party still do today.

As their  greed continued there was no regard for the  3,000 men who toiled and slaved in the quarry and lived in cold and damp barracks away from their families. There was even less regard for the mountains.  Today the vast scars, dereliction and destruction of the mountains blight the valley and are a sad reminder of social injustice. There are more huge slags clinging to the valley sides than you could expect to see clinging to lamp posts and  railings on a Saturday night in Manchester. On the plus side the slags here might not be scantily clad with festering naval piercings and tattoos for all to see, but they are to be brutally frank just as unappealing to the eye.

  By 1930 its working employment had dropped to 2,000, it kept a steady production until 1969 when the remaining quarrymen went on their annual summer leave to return to the news that they had lost their jobs.

The bleakness, the piles of filthy slag, the dereliction and destruction make it the ideal set for films and TV including Dr Who, Blakes 7 and the films Willow and Clash of the Titans. Mortal Combat 2 (which to be brutally frank sounds even more shit than Mortal Combat 1) as well as one of the Tomb raider bilge films with Lara Croft.

143. 11.06.2012 The Courtcase

143. 11.06.2012 The court case.

“Would you like to see what I’ve got in my hand? It’s long and thin, has a red head and is rather hairy”

Such innocent words, but ones I shall never use again. In the wrong context that is. In the event the Judge acquitted me on grounds of diminished despondency but the whole thing left me a shadow of the former man I never was.

I would like to say that the legal aid I received was second to none, but it was. In the past I have always approached my solicitors (usually from behind) Plunge, Shafte  and Rodd  but neither Plunge senior nor Shafte junior were willing to take me on and Ivor Rodd didn’t feel that his experience was long enough and would be, as it was,  out of his depth.  

Luckily a lesbian friend was able to recommend other solicitors  - Flange, Frump  and Flume. I didn’t want either Flange or Frump representing me on account of it being difficult to tell which was which  on account of the matching dungarees, tattoos  and abrupt haircuts but as it happened they were working on a high profile case involving batteries that either were or weren’t included. So Barbra (Babs) Flume represented me in court. I remember looking at the size of her hands and thinking that with fists the size of boiled  ham shanks she would certainly have no issues persuading a jury to come down on my side.

Babs suggested that I try to win the sympathy of the jury by feigning a terminal cold, but despite my constant coughing and spluttering and blowing holes in a Kleenex Mansize, the prosecution saw right through it and said it was a tissue of lies.

In the event though as I mentioned above, Justice Prune threw my case out of the window – which was quite dangerous and could’ve hurt somebody. All was well though until I asked for several other cases to be taken into account including the bauble incident in the Christmas department of Debenhams  and another incident at the Easter Market that also lead to some confusion, although I still maintain that in the latter case,  the rabbit was rampant and was going like the clappers.

Anyhow, today’s picture is a caterpillar that is long and thin with a red head and rather hairy. I won’t even suggest what it will turn into, perhaps a blue butterfly that isn’t a holly blue, but who knows?

128. 20.05.2012 out of focus

128. 20.05.2012 out of focus

Well after yesterday’s experience at the optician, I’ve done very little today other than lie on the settee with a damp tea-towel on my forehead fending off self pity.

It was awful. The nice lady behind the desk was lovely though “You live in the stone house with the long drive don’t you?” she said “I can see your house from my kitchen window, but I’ve not got a pair of binoculars.”

“Well I have” I told her, ”but once my eyes are sorted out I won’t need them anymore”  She laughed as she walked away to fill the glass vials with hydrochloric acid that were to be squirted into my eyes in the comfort of a dark, soundproofed and locked room.

We talked about the owls and how we can hear them   “especially when you go down for a  glass of water in the middle of the night” she said.  I was going to pass comment on it being more than  just a glass of water in the middle of the night, but thought it best not to. What she doesn’t realise is that through my binoculars I can see her fridge light go on and off, and to be brutally frank,  I’ve seen one too many family sized trifles polished off before dawn.  Such behaviour is appalling and I personally would never stoop to such a thing. I know that the odd pot of clotted cream, lump of cheese and packets of ham have gone missing from our fridge, but as I point out to John – as I constantly point out to John – one of the downsides to living in an old house is the poltergeists who move things around and hide empty cartons on the secret shelf just inside the chimney breast or stuff cheese wrappers behind cupboards, especially ones in the dining room. John is by the way not exactly simple, but he does tend to believe these things.

Anyway, back to the optician. After having air blasted into my eyes,admitting that I could only see the first letter on the chart but felt certain that  there was a Q on the second line somewhere, the 50/50 quiz of guessing if the red or the green dots were brightest and three quarters of an hour saying ‘the same, better, or worse” as various things were slotted into the Dame Edna glasses she made me wear just so she could laugh at me.

She turned the lights back on and said “bi-focal”. The optician was from South Africa somewhere and I wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question. “That’s just a vicious rumour” I said. The optician didn’t laugh.  Opticians never do though. It comes from years of sitting too close to people with bad breath. “Bi-focals?” I thought,  I wondered just whose house the woman down the road was looking up at when she looked out of her kitchen window, but it can’t be ours.

“Varifocals” she then said. There was really no need for that, so I swore back at her. You don’t go for an eye test to be insulted.

Anyhow, after the security guards had calmed the situation down, I selected a couple of pairs of glasses – it was a buy one get one free offer – I said buy one get one free – so I bought an everyday pair and some double glazing for the landing  as well as a pair of sensible rimmed ones (filthy innuendo not intended)  for the times when I need to look intelligent and sensible in the boardroom or other meetings.  Not that I’m sensible all that often.

Anyhow, today’s picture was taken from the meadows up on  Bryn Pydew looking  down towards the woods above Mochdre. It’s an example of depth of field with only a bit of it in focus and the rest blurred. It’s deliberate.  A bit like my eyes really.

Postscript, if the lady at the optician is reading this, it was lovely to speak to you and I’ll keep my eyes open for you in the Penrhyn Arms

127. 19.05.2012 Who turned off the Gulf stream?

127.  19.05.2012 Who turned off the Gulf stream?

The doom and gloom continues. It’s getting ridiculous now.  Grey, dark, cold and miserable. Is there no end to it?  April has been and gone,  as has the lion’s share of May and it’s still no warmer than February on a mild day. In four weeks time the nights will be drawing in again and common people will be putting up their Christmas trees.

Midday today and it was 11 centigrade. For those of you of a certain age, 11 centigrade is the temperature that causes your arthritis and rheumatism to flare up, your joints to ache and the dry skin on the back of your hands to flake and crack.  It’s also the temperature of your gin and tonic.

Today on the edge of the beach it was so cold and dark that the daisies didn’t even bother opening.  They just crouched and huddled between the pebbles.  It was so cold that the dog turds were like lumps of treacle toffee. How do I know this? Because I knelt in one whilst taking this bloody picture.

There was snow last week, but not as much as there was on 17^th May 1935 when the people of Yorkshire celebrating King George’s silver jubilee woke up to 2 ft of snow. God help us all if the weather does that on a Silver jubilee, what’s it going to do on a Diamond Jubliee?

According to the statistics the mean average coldest  daily temperatue on may 19^th is  6.93 degrees, the mean average warmest daily temperature is 15.73 – that’s the average temperature over the 24 hours on this day since records began. Whenever that might be.

Just out of interest the warmest temperature ever recorded on this day was in 1948 at Glenbranter in Scotland with a pavement cracking 28.3 degrees and the coldest recorded temperature was just a few miles up the road at Stornvar in 1903 when it was a nipple stiffening -8.7.

And how do I know this? Well I’ve got a book called the Wrong kind of Snow. It’s one of my lavatory books and is filled with all sorts of trivial information that help pass the countless hours I used to spend in there  prior to the successful All Bran challenge and roughage rich health regime.

British weather, is, or so it says in the foreward, some of the most exciting in the world. To be brutally frank, I beg to differ. But there again meteorologists in corduroy jackets with elbow patches would say that, but the next time one of them doing the weather on TV cheerfully comes out with the cliché “coldest since records began” my foot is going straight through the plasma screen. I’ll teach them.

Today’s picture by the way taken on Craig-y-Don beach. Just out of focus in the background are a number of ice bergettes on their way down from the even colder seas in the North, and  now that the Gulf Stream is about to stop (it’s called climate change, not global warming, climate change) , it looks like we’ll be seeing more and more of them and less and less blue thighed Brits in the sea so I suppose there is a cloud to every silver lining – or whatever the saying is.